


Idiot Sandwiches with Lamb Sauce

by SomeCereals



Category: Twisted-Wonderland (Video Game)
Genre: Crack, Fluff, Gen, Gordon Ramsay would make for a great Ramshackle Prefect, Master Chef!, NRC Master Chef Bliss of Meat, ngl, shitpost, this started as a shitpost but then I started taking it seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:54:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29496870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeCereals/pseuds/SomeCereals
Summary: In which Gordon Ramsay-kun is isekai’d into Twisted Wonderland. Part Food Wars, part Hell’s Kitchen, all Master Chef—Night Raven College isn’t ready to take on this Michelin Star celebrity!!
Comments: 15
Kudos: 42





	Idiot Sandwiches with Lamb Sauce

**Author's Note:**

> You know what? Since the current event doesn’t have much of a plot, I’ve got to go and make my own plot. Next time, Master Chef Junior, where Gordon tells Ortho he’s doing amazing, lol
> 
> Disclaimer: I know Gordon Ramsay isn’t this aggressive irl and that he often plays up his behavior for the camera. I’m sure he’s a really nice guy!! I’m just exaggerating his behavior here for comedy purposes 😆 Please don’t come after me, Ramsay’s lawyers www

“Gentlemen.”

A man in a chef’s jacket—crisp, white, _pristine_ —came to a full stop before Riddle and Silver. His arms neatly folded behind him, his back as rigid and straight as a ruler.

Though he no longer paced between the two of them, the muscles in his body tensed, as though bracing for impact. His blonde quiff and twinkling blue eyes suggested youthfulness, but the deep set lines in his face seemed to imply that he was a man that had experienced far more than his age let on. Disciplined, but near _militant_ in his mannerisms.

Jaw clenched, he glanced between his two apprentices. Students that had been slaving away in the cafeteria under the instruction of ghost chefs. Students that he had supported with supplemental lessons late into the night.

To his left was Riddle Rosehearts—hopelessly _hopeless_ in the kitchen to begin with. He had fidgeted around in the pantry, insistent on following every recipe exactly, refusing to trust his own instincts with spices and seasoning. No longer was Riddle that lost child, for he stood tall and proud.

To his right was Silver—skillful with a knife, but lacking focus at the start. He would stare off into space, locked in a daydream, while his creations bubbled over and overcooked. Now, there was a keen glint to his eye, and a sharp confidence to his smile.

Both youths, eager to prove their mettle.

“You will step out of this kitchen today not as boys, not as men, but as CHEFS!!” Gordon Ramsay bellowed. “Show those judges what for, and make me proud!”

“Yes, Chef!!” the boys shouted back. They bowed in unison before turning and tearing off to their separate work stations.

“WHAT ARE YOU?!”

“IDIOT SANDWICHES!!”

“WHAT **WON’T** YOU FORGET?!”

“THE LAMB SAUCE!!”

“WHAT **WON’T** YOU SERVE?!”

“RAW MEAT!!”

Gordon nodded with satisfaction. The mantra was one that had long since been drilled into their minds after countless training sessions, a reminder to never stray from their goal: to deliver perfection on a plate.

The air was punctuated with the sound of knives set into motion. Chopping, slicing, peeling—forming neat cubes, thin cuts, and elegant ribbons. Vegetables being whittled away, granted new life, new _forms_.

Silver was far faster than Riddle, working at a near breakneck speed. As soon as one potato or carrot was skinned and cubed, the next one was soon in his hands. His hands were a blur. He, a swordsman, and the kitchen knife, his blade of choice for battle.

“I... I won’t fall behind!” Riddle declared, blinking back the water that had started to well in his eyes. He glared down at the onion he had been dicing, cursing its tear-inducing fumes.

“Save your crying for when you earn that sexy 30/30 from the panel of judges!!” came Gordon’s insistent roar. “COME ON, ROSEHEARTS!! Get it _together_!!”

“Nngh...!!”

Riddle squeezed his eyes shut, allowing the tears to pool, then blinked several times. He dared not to wipe at his face, not when onion residue was all over his hands. With a grimace, Riddle plucked up the semi-chopped vegetable and tossed it in a small bowl of water—a trick to drive off sulfur compounds.

“It’s _off with your head_ later,” he grumbled under his breath.

“Move, move, MOVE!! Boil the cabbage, mince the meat! Keep your hands busy!!”

“Understood!!” Riddle seized a slab of beef and slapped it on a new cutting board. He made quick work of dividing it into smaller pieces before placing them on a platter and making his way toward a meat grinder.

Silver, meanwhile, has left his meat in sizable chunks, tossing them into a frying pan with a drizzle of oil and a crushed clove of garlic. His vegetables were already slowly simmering in a pot beside him.

“Keep an eye on ALL the components of your dish!! You’ll lose all those lovely nutrients and flavors if you overcook your vegetables!!”

“I am,” Silver called back calmly. His iridescent eyes were aglow with a quiet passion. “I shall overcome this challenge with flying colors...!!”

With his oath having been made, the knight lifted his pan from the flames. Chunks of chicken flew into the air, the light catching on glistening fat, before they returned to the pan. He threw in a few knobs of butter, then removed it from the fire.

In a new pan, Silver dumped onions, garlic, a handful of herbs, puréed tomato, and heavy cream. He stirred the concoction around until the heavy cream and tomato melded—then reintroduced the chicken.

“The vegetables—THE FUCKING VEGETABLES, YOU DOZING DONKEY!!”

“Shoot—the vegetables...!!” Silver scrambled to switch off the heat and pull the pot onto the cool counter. _Just in time,_ he noted, prodding at a floating carrot with a fork—the prongs driving clean through.

But there was not a second to spare, not when his chicken and tomato sauce was shouting for attention. Silver flew to the pan once more, giving the meat a flip to ensure even cooking and flavor infusion on all sides. The chicken had slightly charred, but that could easily be concealed with sauce.

The sound of a knife against a cutting board rang out again—Riddle was aggressively chopping away at his onions and squaring off leaves of boiled cabbage, his blade easily sawing back and forth. His eyes, free of tears and impeccably clear.

He tilted the cutting board, and with the flat of his knife, pushed diced onions into a bowl of minced meat. The second year set aside his cabbage leaves on three plates to focus on his beef. With skilled hands, Riddle sprinkled in generous seasoning and folded the mixture together.

Into a frying pan the protein and onions went, giving off a satisfying sizzle as they made contact with heat and oil. The meat beautifully browned in a matter of minutes, earning a grin from Riddle.

He spooned the contents of the pan into a clean bowl, and, in the same pan, threw down several strips of bacon. Fresh crackles cut through the air, the bacon dancing and curling in place, bathing in the juices that remained from the last meat that had been there.

On the other side of the kitchen, Silver had tossed his chicken, vegetables, and tomato, then portioned them onto three plates. A sprig of thyme topped off each one.

Riddle followed not long after the with plating his own dishes. He carefully spooned his seasoned beef and onion onto the edge of his leaves, then wrapped them up in cabbage, securing them with strips of bacon.

The redhead stepped back to survey his work, and frowned. _Too plain_.

Taking what liquid remained in his pan, Riddle formed pools of savory sauce for the cabbage rolls. A crown of scallions and two heads of broccoli also graced the plates. _Perfect._

  


  


“ _Gorgeous_!!” Gordon called out with a clap. “Simply gorgeous...!! NOW you’re getting the hang of it!!”

He consulted his watch and grimaced. “And not a moment too soon. The tasting is about to start. I trust you’re ready?”

“As ready as I will ever be,” Riddle replied solemnly.

“I am prepared for judgement,” Silver echoed. standing staunchly.

Despite the boys’ words, there was no denying the knots in their stomachs, nor the sheer terror that clawed at their throats. Beyond the kitchen doors, they didn’t know _who_ would emerge today to bring their verdicts upon them. They shuddered to think of the _Big Four_ looming over their dishes.

Jamil Viper, the Unassuming Assassin. He looked the part of a normal diner with regular standards—yet he was anything _but_ that. When you least expected it, his poisonous tongue would lash out with all manner of insults toward your cooking. It hit you right where it hurt: in your confidence.

Idia Shroud, the Haunting of Lost Souls. He was often seen eating junk food and shoveling cheap candies into his gullet—no one would have taken him to have such high standards for food. Idia would hover over dish after dish, deathly pale face twisting with suspicion. He was a lost soul on the hunt for something to satisfy his cravings, and he wouldn’t hesitate to chortle at your expense if you failed to satisfy him.

Malleus Draconia, the Chef Devourer. His refined palette was known to ruin many a cook. Perfect ingredients, perfect technique... The bar was always being raised higher and higher—many chefs couldn’t handle it, and ended up being consumed by their own obsession. Few had managed to tame the dragon that devoured countless cooks.

And Vil Schoenheit, the Queen of Connoisseurs. The pickiest of them all. He refused to so much as _touch_ most of the dishes that came out of the kitchen, somehow managing to find fault in the smallest of things. Your food could glitter like the sun, and Vil would still wrinkle his nose and dismiss it. He was a cruel sovereign, allowing only the best of the best to pass through his lips.

They were judges sent straight from the Underworld itself—but passing or failing the Master Chef course could very well be left in their hands, and their tongues. If even so much as _one_ of them showed up on the panel today, it was all over.

Riddle and Silver exchanged anxious looks. Without words, they knew that the other shared their sentiments.

“Will you cut that out?!” Gordon demanded, hands on his hips. “You’ve come so far, learned so much. I’ll be _damned_ if the judges call you fat useless sacks of yankee dankey doodle shite.”

“I don’t believe anyone at Night Raven College uses the same... colorful vocabulary as you do, Ramshackle Prefect-san,” Riddle pointed out with a slight frown.

“I agree. Malleus-sama especially... He would not spout such crude words.”

“My point still stands!! You _aren’t_ shit chefs, or shit people—now pick up your dishes and march out there. Your humility and honor as a chef are _riding_ on this. Head up, shoulders squared. _No running away!!”_

Gordon whisked up a Cabbage Roll and a Chicken with Tomato Sauce himself. He nodded to Riddle and Silver, indicating that they should carry out the other four plates.

“I would never run,” Riddle snapped, plucking up his Cabbage Rolls. “I told myself at the start of this course that I would be not only a top student, but also a top chef. I will not go back on my word. If the score I receive is unsatisfactory, then I will only strive to work harder from hereon out.”

“A knight never backs down from his vows,” Silver added quietly, Chicken with Tomato Sauces in hand. “I will not let my efforts, my discipline... go to waste. Even if it is Malleus-sama himself that should rain judgement upon our cooking, I shall accept the outcome.”

“Well said!!” Gordon’s chest swelled with pride—and, just for a moment, the creases on his face relaxed into a wide smile.

Together, the trio thrust open the doors to the dining room and paraded in, each bearing two steaming dishes and welcoming smiles.

_“Food is served!! Please enjoy!!”_

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed reading this piece, please check out my Twisted Wonderland writing blog and consider sending in a request of your own (though currently I am not accepting new requests)! I usually only post my longer pieces to AO3 (1000+ words), but you can find a lot of my shorter one shots on the blog.
> 
> Link is: https://raven-at-the-writing-desk.tumblr.com/
> 
> Thank you for your time~


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